by Bethany-Kris
Your mother has done this for years, she told herself calmly. She handled all these girls, the business, and the clients long before you ever stepped in. Pull yourself up off the floor and handle your fucking business, Catherine.
“You have the cocaine issue and a new supplier to figure out, too, Catty.”
Fuck my life.
“I know,” she murmured.
“I could—”
“No.”
Cross sighed. “Listen, babe. I know we don’t mingle business beyond the deal you had made with Giuseppe, but I could work on one thing—the cocaine issue, even—while you handle shit in L.A. It’s not a big deal.”
Except it was …
Because it was her business.
She simply delegated a contact and contract to the Three Families, nothing more. Allowing more meant opening up the possibility that the Three Families’ business might bleed its way into hers. It was a longshot possibility, but still one nonetheless.
One her mother had always made clear was absolutely not to happen, no matter what. Catherine wouldn’t let it happen, either.
“No,” she repeated with finality.
Cross didn’t push the issue further. Catherine knew he wouldn’t bring it up again, either. That was just how their marriage and business worked. He was good that way, and she appreciated it.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said quietly.
Cross’s hands slid down to her waist, and he turned her to face him. Her back pressed into the desk as he leaned into her. Those soul-deep eyes of his bore into hers as she tipped her head back to catch his oncoming kiss.
Her breath faded.
Her heart raced.
Calm resounded.
“Don’t ever be sorry for doing you,” he told her.
Catherine smiled a little. “Yeah, I guess. But that’s not what I meant.”
He lifted a brow high. “Do tell.”
“I need to head out of state.”
“To L.A., right?”
He didn’t even sound surprised.
Disappointed, sure.
That kind of cut her deep, too.
“I can work better when I can actually speak to the girls. They’re going to need meetings, sit downs, some kind of explanation, and more. Reassurance, you know?”
Cross nodded. “Sure, babe.”
“And I need to make it clear who is in charge at the moment.”
His grin turned sinful. “Sometimes I do wish I could be a fly on the wall for that.”
“Mmhmm. I bet.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Except January is your busiest month,” Catherine pointed out. “And we already decided that I would have to be home for the majority of the month to handle Cece when she wasn’t with my parents, or yours, or at daycare.”
“Shit.”
“I know they’ll take her—Cal and Emma, or my mom and dad. I know they will, Cross, but I hate handing her off like that.”
“I know, babe. I can delegate some shit to Zeke or Rick.”
“Your gun run is coming up, too, in a couple of months. I know how you get the closer that comes, Cross. Your attention needs to be on details, and routes, and whatever else. You’re not really here.”
Cross did not look pleased. “Just get to your point, Catherine.”
“I’ll take her with me.”
“To Los Angeles.”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
He hated being away from their daughter. Catherine hated taking her away for long periods.
“A couple weeks.”
“But maybe more,” he pressed.
“Maybe.”
Cross clenched his jaw, but eventually nodded as he stepped away from Catherine at the same time. “Fine, take her. It’s the better option, anyway.”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Never, babe.”
So why did it feel like it?
“She’s precious.”
Catherine smiled at Meeka, one of her mother’s girls. She brought in decent money, but was edging closer to thirty-five than she wanted to admit. Usually, around that age, the woman opted to step back and start living a more normal, stable life.
She knew Catrina had been waiting for Meeka to bring it up.
“Ma, what’s that?” Cece asked.
Miguel was supposed to be keeping Cece entertained in the connecting room. He had once been Catherine’s handler—every girl had one to keep them safe and manage their business between Catrina, Catherine, and the client. Now, though, he was more like her right hand. She figured the only reason Cross never felt threatened or bothered by the guy was because Miguel had a wife, two kids, and thought of her as a little sister to annoy.
Any other man that came near Catherine was fair game to Cross, though.
Miguel tugged on Cece’s pigtail. “Come on, principessa. Let’s go get a Popsicle from the kitchen.”
“No.”
Her friend shot her a look, silently asking, What do you want me to do, reginella?
Catherine shrugged. “She’s fine.”
Meeka was the last girl Catherine had a private face to face meeting with for the day, anyway. All the others had been handled. Tomorrow, she would have a meeting with all of the girls together—hers and her mother’s.
The Four Seasons penthouse suite that her mother kept constantly booked provided them with more than enough space and privacy to work. Small blessings in the current chaos of Catherine’s life.
“What’s that mean?” Cece asked again.
“Precious?”
Her daughter nodded.
“It means you’re too sweet for words. An angel, even.”
Cece stared at her mother for a long while before her brown gaze darted to Meeka sitting across from Catherine. “No.”
Catherine pressed her lips together to keep from smiling or laughing.
Meeka just looked confused. “I can’t call you precious, Cece?”
“No,” her daughter said again.
“Be nice,” Catherine said.
“I says what I says, Ma.”
Catherine sighed, and stared up at the ceiling. Miguel didn’t need to try and convince Cece to go with him to get a Popsicle again because she headed into the connecting room all on her own.
“She’s just like her father,” Catherine told Meeka. “I seriously don’t think she can help it.”
Meeka snorted and grinned. “I bet.”
“Let’s get down to business, okay?”
“Absolutely, reginella.”
“I’m sure you have heard through the grapevine of girls that Catrina has dropped off the radar for a bit. Have you attempted to contact her, or your handler, for that matter?”
“A few times. I knew some of my upcoming dates and trips, but some of the details still needed finalized for one or two clients. We got no answer.”
“Yes, well, for this time, I’ll take the blame. From here on out, I’ll be the one handling your business and clients. Miguel is my go-between. Your handler has been notified of how he can get through to me should he need to, but he will mostly defer to Miguel. I’ve got all the upcoming trips, so within the next couple of days, those details you were waiting on will be finalized.”
“One already passed,” Meeka pointed out. “A client here in Cali. I didn’t even get his stuff, so how was I supposed to deliver it to him?”
Shit.
Catherine reached for the tablet on the side table, and clicked it on. Going into the safe-screen with documents, she punched in the password and brought up Meeka’s profile. The contacts, client list, and dates stared back at Catherine as she read through.
“I’m not seeing the one that was missed,” she told Meeka.
“It should be there.” Meeka pulled out her own phone, hit the screen a couple times, and turned it for Catherine to see. “There, see? Last week.”
“It’s not on mine.”
Or rather, her mot
her’s documents.
The only reason why Catrina would take a client off her calendar would be because he or she no longer wanted to use their services. That was a rarity. Clients preferred them because of their ability to deliver, be sweet, sexy, and pretty, and stay out of their public lives.
Beautiful ghosts, as her mother would say.
Those who could afford high-class, A-list drug dealers, those who could not afford a scandal in their lives, and those who simply wanted something of a higher caliber called them.
“I’ll figure this out,” Catherine told her, “and get back to you on it.”
“I’m not the first.” Meeka shrugged, and crossed her legs. “There’s a couple of girls whose handlers mentioned clients dropping off the radar. Or simply stating they had something better to work with.”
Catherine stiffened. “Like another dealer?”
“It happens.”
Yes, but Catrina should have let her know if they were dealing with a competitor.
Catherine added yet another issue to handle onto her list.
“Any mention of who the competition might be?” she asked.
Meeka shook her head, and flicked a dark brown curl over her shoulder. “Nope, but get ahold of the right clients. Give them something worth making them talk, and you might find out.”
Yes, more shit on her list to do.
Catherine never got a break.
“Did you have any questions about what’s going on from here on out, or whatever?”
“I’m good,” Meeka said. “Tell the regina I said hi, okay?”
“Will do.”
Once Meeka was gone from the hotel room, Catherine stood. She found Miguel and Cece in the kitchenette of the very expensive suite. Cece sat on the counter eating a Popsicle and bobbing and shaking along to the music Miguel was letting blast through his phone.
The massive, barrel-chested Latino danced along with her little girl like he was having the time of his life.
He probably was, knowing him.
“Did you know my mother was dealing with a competitor?” Catherine asked.
Miguel handed his phone over to Cece before turning to face her. “No, why?”
“Because she is. Someone has been stealing clients, it seems.”
“That’s an issue that needs handling, Catherine. The longer you allow it to go on, the more clients we lose, and possibly girls, too.”
No shit.
“Which issue do I deal with first, then?”
“Pardon?”
Catherine started ticking things off her growing list. “Lack of cocaine. No supplier. Catrina is MIA. My husband hasn’t gotten any time with my daughter in a week, never mind me. And now, some fucking idiot is stealing my business. Which do I deal with first?”
Miguel frowned. “I would say that you should ask your mother, but …”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Look at this,” Catherine said in a hiss, pushing the tablet over to Cross. Sitting side by side at the restaurant table, the two scrolled down a list of names. Many, Cross recognized as either celebrities, or sports stars. A few, he didn’t. It was likely they were simply some rich fuck somewhere, or a politician he didn’t care to know. “Twelve, Cross. Twelve.”
“Clients?”
“Yes!”
“You mean—”
“Someone has stolen twelve clients from our books,” Catherine interjected with a nod, her finger tapping down the names. With each tap, her finger hit down progressively harder. “Twelve, Cross. And you know what’s worse?”
No, but he bet she was going to tell him.
“She didn’t even tell me. Ma didn’t tell me a damn thing about this.”
Cross leaned back in the restaurant chair, and scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Well, shit.”
“Right? Fuck.”
“This is what took so long? This is why you were in L.A. for another week?”
Yesterday had been the first time he laid eyes on his wife and daughter in two damn weeks. FaceTime was not the same thing.
Catherine shrugged. “I would have been home last week, but once I got wind of this, I had to go back through the girls. I needed to start tracking which ones lost clients, when, and if Ma had been doing anything about it.”
“Or you could have asked your mother.”
“Because no, Cross, I totally didn’t think or try that at all.”
Her sarcasm burned.
Cross figured he deserved it.
“No response?” he asked, assuming.
Catherine snatched the tablet away, and powered it down. “Nothing. Radio silence. I called my dad thinking he could tell me something.”
“Did he?”
“Nope. He made it clear he was willing to chat about anything but Ma and business. Come over, he told me, but no Catrina and no business.”
“Well, shit,” Cross repeated.
What else could he say at this point?
“Miguel told me to swallow my pride, go to Ma, and apologize. He figured that’s all Ma wants me to do, anyway.”
Cross passed his wife a look. “Did you actually consider it?”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
He loved his wife.
Adored her.
Catherine still was who she was at the end of the day. A stubborn, difficult, grudge-holding woman. A lot like her mother, actually.
Like twins.
“I take it that’s an option you can’t follow through with, for some reason.”
“I can’t follow through on something that my mother won’t allow, Cross.”
“Right. Refusing to see you, or take calls. Yeah.”
Catherine sighed, and tucked the tablet into the purse hanging off the chair. “What lesson is this going to teach me, huh? What is she trying to achieve by blocking me out?”
Cross answered before he could think better of it, saying, “She’s trying to make you respect the work she does, and the position she has. She doesn’t think you understand where she comes from, or the effort she’s put into this, Catherine. She thinks you behave as though you’re entitled to question her because of who you are. I’m not very sorry to say this, but you’re not. That’s all.”
His wife stared at him for a long while. Neither of them spoke. He didn’t need her to speak to know she was probably pissed that he called her out on things she wasn’t ready to face.
Cross had learned over the years to curb his blunt honesty when the time called for it. Sometimes, things needed a careful approach.
Not his wife, though.
For her, Cross didn’t sugarcoat shit.
Catherine let out a slow breath, still watching him in that way of hers. “I crossed a line with my mother, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did, Catty. I’m not sure if you crossed it as much as jumped over it, really.”
“And now she’s …”
“Teaching you a lesson you probably need to learn.”
In a shitty way, sure, but Catherine would likely come out better for it.
Catherine’s shoulders slumped a bit. Cross couldn’t have that tonight. He didn’t want her feeling down, not after being gone for two weeks. He had a feeling he was only going to get a few days with her before work consumed her again, anyway.
Leaning close enough to kiss his wife’s bare shoulder, Cross did just that. Then, he sunk his teeth playfully into the same spot. Catherine shot him a curious look, but he only kissed her skin again.
“No more of that,” he told her. “No frowning or sulking. Not tonight.”
“Cross—”
“You heard me, Catty.”
“You are impossible.”
“Smile, babe.”
She did, but he wanted more.
He always wanted more.
“Not good enough,” Cross murmured, tipping his head up to catch his wife’s lips in a kiss. Slow, and lingering. A familiar war that had his cock hardening beneath his dress pants. Under the table, his han
d snaked higher on Catherine’s thigh. Between her legs, below the skirt of her dress, until damp lace met his fingers. “How are you wet already?”
“Because I have no self-control.”
“Clearly.”
Cross kissed Catherine’s mouth again as his fingers skimmed under her panties, and two sunk into her sex. Despite her gaze that darted to the side, likely checking to see if someone was watching or coming to interrupt them, he felt her legs widen under the table. The tablecloth was long enough to skirt the floor.
No one was coming to bother them.
He made that clear to the waiter when they sat down. Their glasses were filled, menus given, and they were not to be interrupted until the table was filled with the rest of their guests. He owned the place, so the employees tended to listen to his directions.
“We are in a restaurant,” Catherine said softly.
Airless, really.
Hot.
Damn sexy.
“Keep acting like that bothers you for the sake of your pride,” he said with a grin. “And I’ll pretend like you didn’t spread your legs to get my fingers fucking you a little deeper, babe.”
“You are awful.”
“Aren’t I, though?”
Cross kept pumping his fingers into her cunt. On each push, he curled his fingers so the tips dragged along her G-spot on the withdrawal. He knew exactly what his wife loved, and what would get her coming the fastest.
Leaning in, he kissed her quivering chin, then her delicate jawline, and up to the apple of her cheek. With his face covering hers from the view of the other patrons behind them, Catherine seemed fine with letting her eyes flutter close as her pussy started squeezing hard around his fingers.
“Quiet,” he warned, “and eyes on me, babe.”
Her eyes flew wide. Pretty green, and dancing with lust. Her pupils dilated wide as he felt the telltale shake in her thighs.
“Do you know how hot that gets me, Catty?”
“W-what?”
“That you’re just a bit of an exhibitionist. It gets you off like this. What is it that does it for you, huh? The thrill of getting caught, or—”
“You,” she whispered. “It’s you.”
“Is that what it is?”
“And I think you meant we’re deviants.”
“That, too.”
Catherine’s control finally snapped with a quiet gasp, and a soft, “Oh.”
